Tenure Track (54 page)

“
Why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asked.

“
Oh, you had too much to deal with at the time, and somehow it seemed more chivalrous not to reveal my good deeds.” He smiled proudly, still pleased with himself.

Jane was having a hard time computing the meaning of these new facts. She felt nauseous, excusing herself to go to the ladies’ room, her mind swirling from a mixture of alcohol and revelation. Suddenly, her personal narrative was rewriting itself.

Chapter 28

Rewriting the Narrative

Jane’s story had always portrayed her as the aggrieved party, victim of an oversexed, nameless drug addict who manipulated her, tried to rape her and ruin her reputation, then left her to deal with an unwanted pregnancy alone. But was that the way it had really happened?

In her mental autobiography, the young man never had a name. But, of course, he did have one. Try as she might to forget it, she remembered the name too well: Scott Lamour Jackson. He once told her that his unusual middle name reflected his father’s love of Louis L’Amour novels. Scott often mentioned his parents, always with a respectful tone. Despite his youthful rebellion against their conservative values, it was clear he loved them and wished he could be less of a disappointment to them. Jane could have sympathized with this need and helped the student try to improve himself, but she never wanted to acknowledge that he was someone’s child. She preferred him as a blank slate. His parting shot to her had been true: she never really cared about
him,
only about his body.

Sitting in the dim bathroom stall of the old bar, Jane realized how much she had abused her role as a teacher, recalling the events of their fateful encounter from a different point of view.

Scott
had
approached her in the faculty parking lot that evening, stoned and horny, trying to get her to satisfy him orally.

There the narrative shifts.

Her 60 year-old body shuddered as it recalled the electric sensations she experienced that night. When Scott kissed her forcefully, drawing her hand into his unzipped pants, she knew she should have been disgusted by his violent, stoned state. Instead, she had found herself inexplicably aroused. Animal instinct took control over reason as they quickly moved to copulate right there in her car. She remembered sucking his sweet tongue as he lifted his legs awkwardly and swung them over the stick shift. They were both squeezed into the driver’s seat, which she smoothly shifted into a reclining position. Then she felt his hand move up her leg and lift her skirt. She experienced a rush of excitement as his fingers ripped her panties and inserted themselves into her warm, wet center. She remembered easing her hand under his jeans to squeeze his buttocks. Just as he had raised up and was preparing to enter, they were startled by the knock on the window.

Getting interrupted by Officer Acevedo had made her come to her senses and realize where they were. In a flash she had pushed her lover off of her as the cop opened the unlocked door and roughly pulled Scott out of the vehicle. Mortified to be caught in such a compromising position, she was not about to confess to her own culpability. As Ralph fretted over her, she did little to correct his mistaken assumption that the drunken kid had tried to violate her against her will.

Never before had the difference in the power levels between herself and her lover been so glaring. She was a respected female professor. He was a stoned-out undergrad. Standing in that parking lot, she knew that anything she said would be believed and nothing he said would. The older Jane recalled with disgust the thought that flashed through her mind that night:
If this kid was black instead of white, I could probably get him sent away for life.

But Jane never had to lie. Officer Acevedo had jumped to his own conclusions. So she feigned martyrdom, refusing to press charges and asking Ralph to help the young man sober up.

She did not discover until that angry confrontation three weeks later that Ralph never took Scott to the health center. Wanting to teach the young man a lesson, he had gone straight to the county jail, where Scott was charged with public intoxication and possession of a small quantity of marijuana. Her lover had slept off his high in a cell with two homeless alcoholics reeking of tobacco, urine and stale beer. He had tried to call Jane several times that weekend, but she kept her phone off the hook. Even if he had reached her, it was unlikely that she would have risked helping him, given the circumstances of his arrest.

Scott wound up spending that entire weekend in jail, until he could see a judge on Monday morning and get a friend to post bond. By that time, he was quite sober. Four days with no booze, drugs or shower facilities, fed by a jailhouse diet of dry bologna sandwiches at every meal, gave him plenty of time to think and grow up. Jane’s betrayal in the parking lot had hurt him deeply. As shallow as their relationship had seemed to her, he thought he could trust her and that she at least cared about him a little. Rather than confront her in what could have turned into a nasty break-up scene, he determined simply to never call her again. He tried to ignore her calls and letters, taking pains to avoid her on campus.

Jane now recalled more about that final confrontation in his apartment—the scene he had tried to avoid and which she had forced. Yes, his insults had cut to the bone, but they also came with a wounded look in his eyes and heartbreak in his voice as he interpreted her actions and recounted his unpleasant experiences in jail. The jail part was no fun, he had told her, but he could have dealt with it. Her turning on him hurt much more. Jane remembered skulking out of that room feeling greatly ashamed. When she spent the following days in her room crying, it was for her own failings as much as for the loss of the relationship.

With this new revelation from Perry, the revised narrative evolved further. This new testimony forced her to question her previous assumptions. How did she know Scott had spread those stories about her? Perry had just traced them to druggies, perhaps some of Scott’s friends in whom he had confided. And probably nothing he had said about her was untrue.

But she had sic’d Perry on him. Her dear Perry, as loyal to her as Dennis was to Dana. From his perspective, based on Jane’s version of events, Scott Jackson had gotten what he deserved. Acting out of a chivalric sense of heroism, Perry had risked his career for her. In contrast, she had lied to protect her own career. Who was protecting Scott Jackson? He was the student. They were supposed to be the teachers. She never even gave the boy a chance to react to her pregnancy.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. “Janey, are you okay?” Perry entreated.

“
I’ll be fine, Pere. Just give me five minutes.” She came out of the stall and went to the sink. Her whole body was sweating nervously. As she carefully dried her face with a paper towel, the door swung open and in walked Mandy Taylor, dressed in her waitress attire and tying a bar apron around her waist.
Could this night get any worse?
Mandy and Jane both froze upon seeing one another, then Mandy wordlessly moved in front of the mirror and started pinning her hair up.

Jane fought the urge to walk out and say nothing. Instead, she stood up tall. “I didn’t realize you worked here.” She cleared her throat. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“
Yeah,” Mandy smiled, still twisting her hair.

“
Very nice,” Jane offered. “How’s your mother taking it?”

“
She’s good,” Mandy replied. “Don’t worry, she’s not gonna cause anymore trouble for the school.”

“
What about your stepfather?”

Mandy chuckled. “He doesn’t care. You know how politicians are: big talk in public, different story in private.”

Having been caught at a vulnerable moment when she was feeling guilty about everything she had ever done, Jane offered, “I’m sorry about Lewis’s job situation. He’ll be missed.”

Mandy gave her a look of resignation. “We knew the score, though for what it’s worth, it would’ve been nice if you’d had his back a little better. Well, I’ve got to start my shift. I’ll tell my mom you asked about her.”

Jane felt as if she couldn’t sink any lower into the floor.

She parted company with Perry soon after, exchanging a tight hug before he stepped into a taxi. She took a leisurely walk around campus; something she had not done in a long time. Her eyes and mind took in all the sights and sounds of campus life. She studied the classic architecture of old buildings; admired the majestic oak trees that were older than any faculty member; listened to the various sounds of students laughing, gossiping, and complaining. The grounds had that ever-present smell of newly cut grass, coupled with a sweetness from the blooming springtime plants. The maintenance men were still hard at work, exchanging conversations in Spanish.

Making her way past the athletic complexes, she could hear members of the football team taking part in spring practices, grunting and slamming into one another to the tweets of their coaches’ whistles. Outside the aquatics center she could hear the shouting commands of the swim coaches and the splashing responses of their swimmers. The language of the athletes and coaches was as foreign as the speech of the brown-skinned landscapers.

She wished she could pick up languages as easily as her mother-in-law. She wanted to understand the dialect of Sport, so that she could better converse with her daughter. Coach Gibson spoke this language fluently. That is why Dana had felt comfortable enough to share her sexual identity crisis. Jane had been so wrong about Gibson. Apparently he was both a good teacher and a good man. But it could have been so different.

Listening to the whistles, shouts, and grunts from the athletic arenas, Jane thought about how much power coaches have over their students. She had always resented their influence on campus, but she was also a bit jealous of their ability to really connect with their students. How many alums had she heard say that their most memorable teacher was a coach? In the right hands, that power could achieve great results.

It was all about power, wasn’t it?
Listening to the rustling of leaves in the wind, a shiver went down her spine as she recalled Bubbe’s words:
“They were ordinary men who carried out evil. I think, they did not think of the Jews as human beings. We were like animals.”

That had been Jane’s greatest sin. She had abused her power. She was the professor. Scott Jackson had been the student, a foolish young man looking for fun, but needing more guidance than he realized. Rather than helping him find his way, she had sexually objectified him.
Dehumanized.
Had she been any better than Horndog Harry or Don the Juan? Only in that she learned from her mistake and never did it again, but she had never honestly faced up to her guilt. Instead, she carefully hid behind a veil of hypocrisy and judgment. In doing so, she had failed to have Lewis Burns’s back.

No Fraternization was supposed to be about curbing abuses of power. Lewis was right, he had never abused his power. Jane could have stood up for him, but she chose to punish instead. She was really punishing herself, the self she had been so long ago.

At that moment, Jane wished she was Catholic so that she could go to confession, say a few “Hail Mary’s” and be done with the guilt. She needed to pay a penance for her sins.
Of course,
she thought,
if I was Catholic I’d be condemned to Hell for having committed a mortal sin.
Methodists were more wishy-washy, believing nothing was beyond God’s forgiveness. They were supposed to grow in grace, learning from their mistakes, ever-improving themselves.
Growing is harder
, she concluded.

Eventually, her journey led back to Hammond Hall, growing darker from the lowering sun, quiet save for discussion from a couple of evening seminars filtering through the halls. Once entrenched in her office, she sat in front of her computer recalling Gary’s comment that “these days, you can find out anything about anybody on the Web.” It was worth a try. She Googled: “S-C-O-T-T L-A-M-O-U-R J-A-C-K-S-O-N.”

It did not take long to find a wealth of information. She was surprised to see that he had a friends page, one clearly designed to attract dates.
What kind of man over 50 trolls for dates on a youth-oriented networking site?
The posted photo must have been taken at least 25 years earlier, as he looked only slightly older than when she had known him. He mentioned his hobbies, such as listening to classic rock music, trying to quit smoking, and playing with his grandkids.
Grandkids!
She felt very old.

The page neglected to mention other information she gleaned from various other sources, such as that he still lived in a house owned by his now elderly parents, had been married and divorced three times, had two daughters, three grandchildren, and a poor credit rating. He had completed his degree at a small Baptist college near his hometown, seven years after leaving the U.

After a somewhat spotty work history, for the past 14 years he had been employed as a finance and insurance manager for a car dealership, the guy whose job it was to talk customers into buying unnecessary contract add-ons
. If he’s as smooth a salesman as in college, he should be well-suited for that job.
Jane found a more recent photo of him on the car dealership’s Web site. Now balding and heavyset, the only similarities between Scott’s younger self and the current version were the eyes, still looking bleary and tired, as if permanently hungover.